"We shall see."
A few minutes passed. Then the look of blank expectancy on the Colonel's face gave way to a look of satisfaction. He laid down the receiver.
"Shoot them!" he said laconically, turning to the lieutenant.
Granger smiled at Kenneth, whose cheeks had gone red with indignation rather than pale from fear.
"What rot!" said the boy.
"I said I should die in my boots," remarked Granger. "My fate has been hanging over me these ten years. But there's a chance for you. Why not tell them about the bridge?"
"They'd only think I was funking, and wouldn't believe me. I won't do it."
They were led away towards a clump of trees on the outskirts of the camp. The lieutenant was selecting his firing party. A crowd of troopers, some in uniform, others in their shirt sleeves, came flocking around. One or two officers moved more leisurely towards the scene. Suddenly one of these started, and hurried forward with an exclamation of surprise.
"Mon Dieu, it's you, Ken!" he cried, seizing Kenneth's hand.
"Hullo, Remi," said Kenneth, his face lighting up. "Just tell your colonel I'm not a German, will you?"